The Rules. I've reread that first piece and worked out that since then (2 weeks ago) I have drunk approximately 6 gallons of wine. I have, however, blogged when possible so I will award myself a respectable 5 out of 10. Now for the tough one. The drinking.
I have no ambitions to abstain from drinking altogether. I did that once, about 8 years ago, as an experiment. I lasted 15 months and frankly they were the dullest 15 months of my life. I read a lot, and embroidered six cushion covers but I felt as if I'd aged 20 years and lost my best friend. I really missed the girl who got pissed on Tequila, lost her footing and fell out of the boat and into the sea. I missed the girl who was always the first on the Bucking Bronco at the party. I missed our private Wine and Cheese Appreciation Society meetings at the kitchen table when Darling was sitting through another repeat of Miss Marple.
Eventually, one day I felt like a gin and tonic, with a slice of lime, so I had one. Every atom in my body cheered when I swigged at that gin and whilst I suspect I have only had, perhaps, 10 gin and tonics since then (all on one evening funnily enough, with a former editor of The Scotsman who doesn't drink gin either) and my atoms are still cheering. Well, all except the ones in my liver who are a bit taciturn. They remind me of my husband's Grandmother in many ways.
I also gave up booze for Lent last year but I only survived three weeks. Who would have thought forty days could last so long? Jesus!
So new rules. Louis, who has recently become elevated to high ranking status in the best friends hierarchy has suggested cutting down. He insists that this is not a criticism, but an appeal for a fill up in the fuel tank of self worth. He thinks that getting sloshed evey night and not eating properly just to see if anyone notices or cares is possibly a bit daft and rather like stretching a piece of elastic to see when it breaks. It will break, and then you will have some broken elastic.
Bloody hell, Darling is ordering a curry on the telephone right behind me, shouting. 'Madrasi Murgh - fairly hot'. I have to go and do a bit of GBH, and then pour myself a large glass of Vin de Pays. Except that I can't drink wine with curry - it has to be lager. Oh well, no curry for me then. Or maybe it really is time to pull the elastic that is me, together.